Thursday, November 27, 2014

Let Us Give Praise (WITH THE CAPS LOCK ON)

Happy Pilgrim Invasion/Let Us Herd Like Sheeple To Get A Cheap TV We Don't Need weekend. So much of social media this week has caused me to feel sad and powerless (Quick! Where's the HIDE button?), but I do enjoy the part where we give thanks, so here goes.

I'm thankful for the usual things: my health, my work, my friends. But what's helped me be more grateful than ever is that I'm no longer oh so depressed.


It would look a little something like this.

As far as my health, I am going into the holiday season and another Chicago winter at my highest weight ever, but I'm otherwise I'm pretty together. I have a weight loss wager in place that involves me riding a bike for 20 miles if I don't reach my goal. I don’t like to lose and I don't particularly want to ride a bike (although I will do so cheerfully if I must), so expect a slimmer me soon.  And if I slip on a patch of ice in the meantime, my bootie will provide a soft place to land. ASSTASTIC BRIGHT SIDE.

As far as my sky hostess work, it's greatly improved. I seem to have perfected a half smile that lets the general public know that I am finally with the goddamn program. So no more "Smile!" or "You look tired." I've been working better trips, in fact earlier this week I had a day where I slept late, wrote up a storm, walked five miles, ate a chicken burrito naked on my hotel balcony and took a nap before reporting for work at 8 pm to end up in Vegas, where I proceeded to get a margarita served to me by a guy in his underwear. That kind of adventure makes up for all the days that I've spent cleaning up barf or stuff like this. 

I also go to work with a keen ear. I listen and observe what goes on around me and if it’s of interest, I scribble down what it evokes for me as a listener. Observations about different cities, about interactions between people on the airplane, specifically when cultures clash. I am no longer a mere flight attendant, I am a reporter. No, better than that, I am a SPY. SPY WORK IS COOL.

As far as my writing work,  I’ve been rejected by quite a few online publications recently. Any writer that submits anything knows that’s the price of putting yourself out there. I WILL NOT GO AWAY QUIETLY. (Behold my SHOUTY CAPS!) Due to my residency in Bummertown, I wrote sporadically for my monthly writing class and only performed in a handful of shows last year.  I recently agreed to do more shows in the next few months than I did in all of 2014, and the writing has subsequently picked up some speed. I now write quite a bit on my computer when I’m at home, I have Google docs on my phone so I can edit projects on when I’m on the train or at work, I write on drink order pads at work if my phone isn’t handy. Last week I found myself writing something I didn’t want to forget on my hand.  Sometimes I get discouraged that my words are more in line with More magazine than punk rock, but I'm hoping my true voice is a quirky swirl of both. Patti Smith is 67, after all, and she still rocks.

I still don’t know what I’m going to be when and if I decide to grow up. But I’m in good company on that score. I know very few people who have anything figured out right now. I don’t believe that’s an accident; I think I’m intentionally surrounding myself with people who are always striving and struggling to make their lives better. IT IS THE GRIT THAT MAKES THE PEARLS AND OTHER WEIRD OYSTER METAPHORS.

I strongly believe that to continue to grow as a writer, I must strive to lead the most interesting life that I can, and write from that knowledge. Because getting published and being in shows is wonderful, but always trying to be better at this is the most important thing to me.

Best wishes to you on this holiday. I'll end with something I didn't want to forget to tell you.